


The Great and Many Problems to Be Found When Trying to Eat an Angel

by Shachaai



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Blood, Cannibalistic Thoughts, Other, Sweet Devil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-07
Updated: 2015-02-07
Packaged: 2018-03-10 23:11:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3306836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shachaai/pseuds/Shachaai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sweet Devil/some kind of demonverse AU. Thing. Extremely possessive chibi!Greed Demon Alfred has a discussion with one of his guardians about the new pet he caught and dragged home, and whether said pet can be dinner.</p>
<p>Nsfw – nothing really happens, but the conversational matter/general intent covers childish cannibalism, attempted cannibalism, sex (selfcest?) and casual pain/death. Kinda cheerfully. FrUK mentioned, as well as rather warped USUK.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Great and Many Problems to Be Found When Trying to Eat an Angel

**Author's Note:**

> Repost from long ago on tumblr.

The floor was dirty. Alfred sulked at it, only noticing the grime between his bare toes after his brother, Matthew, had gone, disappearing with a worried tail-swish down the somewhat murky hallways of their home to procure one of their guardians, Arthur, from wherever he was hiding. Dirt, Alfred felt, was pretty cool and fun to play in, as long as it stayed where it was _supposed_ to and didn’t come inside his home. Alfred spent enough time getting scooped up and dumped in inconvenient baths due to getting mucky _outside_ without having to get baths for time spent _inside_ too – Arthur, people said _all the time,_ was _house-proud,_ and while Alfred wasn’t exactly sure what that meant, experience had taught him that it was most commonly linked with Arthur suddenly descending on him with all the literal powers of hell because he’d gotten mud on Arthur’s favourite Persian carpet. Arthur could spot a speck of dirt a _league_ away, and was unfairly tall enough to grab both Alfred and Matthew by the scruff of their necks when they came in with dirty grass-stained dresses and dump them together in a lavender-scented bubble bath. (Alfred _hated_ lavender-scented bubble baths. The bubbles made him sneeze and his wings got all wet. Wet wings were icky and stuck to his back.)

So Alfred glared at the dirt on his feet and, he noted rather grudgingly, on his hands – but _those_ were easily cleaned by rubbing them on his dress a bit and then on the somewhat cleaner-looking gown of the prize he’d had Mattie help him pull down to one of their dens in Hell from the Surface world. His hands left small grey-brown _smudges_ on the pretty white sleeve, which _sorta_ made it blend in with the den a bit better, but didn’t do much to stop the shiny _glow_ the wearer of it was giving off, the colour of sunshine on fluffy afternoon clouds.

Like honey and spun sugar, those clouds had always looked so _tasty –_ but they were too far away for Alfred to fly up to them by himself and eat, because he was too small and got tired after flying for too long. Arthur, smiling, had once flown up and brought down some of the clouds at Alfred’s eager request, but there’d been nothing but some disappointing water in his palms when he’d returned to the Surface. Alfred’s dreams had been crushed, and he’d _sulked._

Luckily, Alfred had spotted a pretty good cloud-substitute that afternoon: a man-thing that looked like it was _made_ of gold clouds, all shimmery to look at with large feathery bird wings sprouting out from its back. It looked sorta like Arthur (even if its wings were all _wrong_ ) so, naturally, it must belong to Alfred the same way Arthur belonged to Alfred. So Alfred had took it, luring it close with all the wiles of a little demon and knocking it out with the help of Mattie and a heavy rock. Together, he and Mattie had taken the wing-cloud-guy home – and Alfred hadn’t even tried to eat the guy _once_ on the journey, even though it’d looked so tasty and smelt so nice and _interesting,_ not at all like home and Arthur did. (Not that Arthur _didn’t_ smell nice, it was just… _different._ )

But now – now he was finally home there was _nothing_ to stop Alfred finally getting a taste of his clouds at last. Mattie _wanted_ him to wait until Arthur could be fetched, to show Arthur the cloud-guy who looked so much like him but _wasn’t_ him (Arthur, Alfred was very, _very_ sure, wouldn’t be dumb enough to get caught out by a _rock_ ), but Alfred wasn’t very fond of waiting at all. He wanted and he wanted _now_ before Arthur came and came up with some dumb _rules_ (he was a Greed demon; how could Arthur try to restrict his natural greed?) _–_ so he shuffled closer to his acquisition, prodding one of the fluffy wings to check the guy was still out cold. When the limb didn’t so much as twitch in response Alfred _beamed,_ scrambling even closer to the wing’s owner to investigate the nice smells that had been hanging around the room ever since it’d been dragged in, iron blood and ozone, sticky as honey and probably _three times_ as sweet. Sugar-feathers and tender-warm meat for after – Arthur, Alfred magnanimously decided, could probably have the bones, drying off the wetness to add to his beautiful off-white throne.

One of the cloud-guy’s wings was curved enough for Alfred to scrabble underneath it, nestling close to the other’s breathing body in the sudden shade, his tail curled close around him as he reached out with eager hands for the drift of glimmering gold-white above his head. If all the feathers got ripped off the cloud-guy might actually have _proper_ wings like Arthur’s – but why _anyone_ would stick clouds to their wings Alfred certainly didn’t know, unless it was some kinda snack to eat on the go? A fairly _interesting-_ looking snack –

Alfred reached up a grabbed a large handful of the cloud-guy’s feathers, and _yanked_ them off the other’s wings with all his not-inconsiderable strength. The cloud-guy breathed on but the wing _flinched,_ flicking sharply away and red _bloomed_ across the white expanse left behind, spreading more of the delicious smells in the air.

Alfred grinned – clouds at sunset – with his little mouth full of little sharp teeth, and happily chomped down on the feathers he’d grabbed, his meal still smeared a little from the blooming blood and the muck he hadn’t quite managed to remove from his hands. This was his, all _his –_

“Ah, ah, _ah._ ” Large hands suddenly swooped down and caught Alfred up by the middle, carefully pulling the little demon out from underneath the wing’s curve and into large, familiar arms, like they’d done a countless number of times before. “Little one, what have I told you before about your mid-meal snacks?”

_“Francis!”_ Alfred said happily, pleased to see the bearded face of one of his guardians – or _tried_ to say, anyway. He still had a mouthful of large downy feathers, cloying on his tongue and garbling his speech.

After a moment more of consideration, Alfred spat them out. _Bleh._ (They hadn’t tasted as good as they’d smelled, anyway. Which was unfair.)

_“Francis,_ ” Alfred said again, no less eagerly than before, wriggling around in Francis’ grasp so he could cheerfully squish the Lust demon’s cheeks together in an approximation of a hug, spreading his small wings and coiling his tail around Francis’ forearm for balance. It had always worked well as a greeting to others for Alfred – Francis always said he didn’t like getting his hair pulled, and wouldn’t carry Alfred around anymore if he did it, no matter how much Alfred complained and bit him. Alfred puffed-up his cheeks and complained about that a _lot_ (but never _too_ much as he quite liked getting carried around and not having to walk) _,_ since Francis let _Arthur_ pull his hair, and his horns, and his wings _and_ his tail, and it _hurt_ getting your tail pulled on so that meant something, right? Mattie wouldn’t let Al pull his tail even though Alfred had asked _nicely,_ and even killed and given him a baby rabbit he’d found and only gnawed on a _little_ bit.

(Since it’d been quite hard to catch the rabbit – Mattie _understood_ these things -, instead of letting Alfred pull his tail, Mattie had told him that Francis didn’t _let_ Arthur pull his stuff all the time; Arthur did it anyway, and Francis enjoyed it. Sometimes. When it was good pain and they were fucking. Francis didn’t complain about it much because if he pissed Arthur off Arthur would stop doing the bad pain _and_ the good pain, and Francis quite liked the good pain and Arthur not being too mad.

(Alfred allowed it, because he was too small to really do much about it and besides, it was better to have Arthur mad at people who were _not him._ When he got bigger, though –)

It was weird, sometimes, having a Lust demon as a guardian.)

“Alfred,” said Francis, sounding a little sterner, and Alfred remembered he was sorta being scolded. Poo. “What did I tell you?”

Alfred puffed-up his cheeks and sulked.

_“Alfred._ ”

Francis was _picky._ But, if he wasn’t appeased, Alfred wouldn’t get any cake next time Francis got some. And it wasn’t nice being deprived of cake. Mattie would eat it _all_ just to spite him, and smack him if he tried to take any, and Mattie’s smacks _hurt_ which was _totally_ not fair.

Grudgingly: “…Only eat them _after_ I know what _they’ve_ eaten.”

Francis kept his stern expression, his long curls trailing down by Alfred’s smaller head. (Alfred should _yank_ them, just to make Francis howl. It would serve him right.) “And do you know what your….acquisition here has already eaten?”

“…No…”

“You,” Francis said, carefully shifting Alfred’s weight to one arm and poking Alfred’s nose with his freed hand, “could give yourself a terrible tummy-ache. _Again_ ,” Francis added. “You _know_ vegetarians disagree with you, little one, and angels have a terrible habit of being vegetarian.”

Alfred paused in his sulky attempts to snap at the finger prodding at him. _Angel?_

“How on earth did you come by this one, anyway?”

Alfred perked, pleased to be asked. “I caught it!”

Francis just eyed him, before looking at the Arthur-cloud-guy-angel on the ground. “All by yourself?”

“Mattie helped too, but it was my awesome plan! We whacked him on the head an’ yanked him down here cuz Mattie said we should show Arthur, cuz the angel,” (the word still tasted bizarre. _Angel,_ Alfred had heard all Arthur and Francis’ stories about angels, but he’d never _seen_ one before. Did they all look like clouds and smell so good? No _wonder_ demons tore them down,) “looks _just like him_ an’ that’s _weird._ ” Alfred looked to Francis for confirmation of his proclamation. “Ain’t it weird?”

Francis was still looking at the cl- _angel_ on the ground, his gaze almost _smoky_ as his lips curled… _up._ Very slow. “The resemblance is truly remarkable.”

Alfred recognised his guardian’s expression. He scowled. “You can’t fuck it.” The angel was _his._ “That’s your bed face and you _can’t have it_ cuz it’s _mine._ Me and Mattie caught it fair n’ square, and we’re gonna eat it.”

Francis just _hmm_ ed, hoisting Alfred up a little higher. “And if Arthur tells you not to eat your new pet?”

Alfred _squirmed._ That was difficult. “…Then we’ll _discuss_ it.” Arthur liked discussions. They were mature and grown-up (and Alfred liked when Arthur smiled like something all melting and if Alfred didn’t argue _too_ much Arthur would hold him close and pet his hair, stroke his tail). But that was with _Arthur_ , not Francis, and Alfred was going to be _very, very firm_ about that. “But you can’t fuck it! You always wear them all out when you do and they taste all _gross_ afterwards.”

“I am much more interested in getting _Arthur_ to fuck the angel, little one.” Francis was _impossible._ “Don’t you think that would be a marvellous sight?”

Alfred made a face, and dreamed of the day when he’d be old enough to yank hard on Francis’ stupid tail without getting smacked. “Arthur can’t fuck it _either._ ”

“Oh? And why is that?” Francis shifted again and Alfred clung on to him tighter, sulking into the older demon’s shoulder as Francis’ hand spread thoughtfully on his back. “Usually you’re quite eager to please him any way you can.”

“Arthur,” announced Alfred determinedly, and dug his fingers into Francis’ chest, “is going to be my mate. _And I’m not sharing him with anything ever.”_

“I’m sure he’ll be delighted to hear that. Greed and Pride, what a match.” Francis did not sound at _all_ impressed enough after such a declaration, his voice thread through with too much amusement for Alfred’s liking. He growled a little bit, just to let Francis know he was serious, and settled again when Francis went on. “What if someone else complains?”

“Then I’ll kill ‘em,” Alfred said, suddenly tranquil in his surety and under Francis’ talented hands. “You can help, if you wanna. You’re gonna be my mate too.”

The amusement was back. “Perhaps when you are a little taller, little one.”

Alfred growled again, petulant – but was distracted from his indignation by a soft _groan_ from the floor, Francis’ smile spreading into something that was all sharp teeth. Alfred echoed it as soon as he realised where it came from, looking down, pleased when his pet angel stirred and shifted, the wings flicking back and still blooming that pretty sticky red.

_“Mine,_ ” Alfred reminded his guardian, and watched in glee as the angel slowly woke up and opened up very wide green (Arthur) eyes. “But if you say _please_ , I might share.”

Francis just laughed, and the angel stared, dazed, at them both – before scrambling backwards, not stopping until he hit the den’s far wall. Francis smiled at it and Alfred smiled at it too – the air thickened with growing fear and it smelt _delicious._

(Alfred’s tummy grumbled. He was still hungry.)


End file.
